


White, Red

by emoviolent



Series: try this with your eyes closed [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Band, Drug Addiction, Drug Dealing, Dysfunctional Relationships, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mild Smut, Overdose, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 16:11:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17144933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emoviolent/pseuds/emoviolent
Summary: i’m dreaming of a white christmas all right...





	White, Red

**Author's Note:**

> i’m dreaming of a white christmas all right...

“What do you need now?” The words dance on his lips, dripping with exasperation and annoyance. He isn’t in the mood to play and likely doesn’t even want to see or be near Pete. Patrick’s irritation is pungent and obvious, emanating through the phone line and filling Pete with dread he has come to expect and accept. It scratches that itch under his skin, only igniting his passion. Or is it romanticized lust? 

Whatever. 

“You know what I want.” Patrick’s known the entire time but that doesn’t mean he’s ready to easily give it up. What a conniving bastard. Pete isn’t sure if he hates or loves him for it. Whatever he feels is what keeps him coming back to Patrick, like he’s got an addiction that can only be sated by the presence of Patrick. 

Pete cracks a smile at the thought. How ironic, for he does come back to Patrick for both a metaphorical and literal fix. He’s the only person he can trust to not fuck him over and leave him for dead, someone who won’t rat him out to the cops that patrol the street or increase the cost of each hit. 

“So can you help me out?” Pete asks. Patrick sighs over the phone. He’s hesitating.  _ Now we can’t let that happen, now can we?  _ “Pretty please? It’s Christmas.”

“No, it’s not,” Patrick snaps. He huffs out another breath and Pete has to bite his tongue to quell the laugh bubbling in his throat. “It’s the 24th.”

“Close enough. It’s Christmas Eve, get into the holiday cheer! Consider this to be a gift exchange, just like old time’s sake,” Pete purrs. This won’t be the first time they’ve done this charade and it likely won’t be the last. Just like Pete longs for Patrick’s touch and drugs, Patrick also craves his companionship and attention. It doesn’t make much sense to Pete; he’s a common whore whose body has been used by dozens, possibly hundreds, of greedy hands and limbs. And Patrick? Well, he’s a drug dealer, though not as lowly as most as he has association with one of the most dangerous gangs in their part of town. On top of that, Patrick is surely a catch and has plenty of admirers, some who are more desirable than a druggie hooker from the wrong side of the tracks. 

But Patrick chose him. Something about that makes Pete feel special. Patrick is far from perfect - he’s an asshole, a drunk, petulant, short-tempered - but Pete loves him, or what he is able to give him.  He’s not sure if he’s in love with Patrick or in love with the attention he receives from him. Whatever it is, it keeps Pete on his toes and anxious for their next encounter no matter how brief it may be. 

“Hurry up.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen,” Pete promises sweetly. 

 

\---

 

Pete sneaks a quick peek through Patrick’s window, smiling when he sees that the living room lights are off. He’s surely angered Patrick. That’s exactly how he wants him tonight. 

Three raps against the door summons Patrick and brings Pete face-to-face with icy blue eyes and a head of feathered peroxide blonde hair. Brushing off the irate expression being shot his way, Pete says in an innocuous voice, “Nice to see you, Mr. Stump.”

Rolling his eyes, Patrick says, “Don’t pull that shit, you sociopathic…” He trails off and shifts his gaze to Pete’s body, grimacing. “Why are you wearing that?” 

Pete passively glances at his outfit, a red argyle sweater with little white reindeers across the chest, a jean skirt and fishnet tights under faux fur boots. Compared to what he usually wears, he deems this to be festive and appropriate. “Don’t you think I look pretty?” he asks, batting his eyelashes.

The corner of Patrick’s lips quirk with the beginnings of a smile but he manages to keep a straight face. “You look cold,” he responds flatly. 

“I am.” Pete makes a point to pull the sleeves of his sweater down over his hands. “May I please come in, Mr. Stump?” he whispers. “I promise not to make too much of a fuss.” 

Patrick wraps a hand around one of Pete’s arms, pulling him into the corridor and shutting the door behind them. Pete pretends to not notice the look of concern on Patrick’s face when his fingers nearly touch while covering his arm. Better to ignore the bad things and save those for later conversations. That always makes for fun pillow talk. 

Pete toes his boots off and follows Patrick to the living room, making sure to stay a couple of strides behind him. He likes to watch and take in all the little movements he makes, no matter how unimportant they may seem. Learning to read people has become a necessary skill for Pete’s line of work, helping him gauge the interests and reactions of customers and regular citizens alike. It keeps him safe and one step ahead of people at all times. 

In this case, Pete doesn’t have anything to worry about. Patrick would never hurt him - not unless he wants him to, of course. Their boundaries are very clear despite neither of them ever verbally voicing them. They’ve figured each other out over the course of their ‘relationship’ and have a unique sense of respect for one another that surpasses customer and client while still falling short of traditional dating. It’s bittersweet in a way, like a cavity forming on a loose tooth.

Patrick sits on the couch, patting the cushion next to him and raising an eyebrow when Pete gracefully crosses his legs. “No need for formalities,” he says in a deadpanned voice. “You and I both know what this is. You don’t have to try to act like it’s dignified or pure.”

Tremors of excitement rush through Pete, filling him with newfound warmth. He loves how Patrick remains rough around the edges and crude despite the fine furnishings of his suburban household and expensive designer clothing. It’s so honest and real, giving Pete some sort of reprieve from the manufactured mechanical shithole that he’s come to know as his life. Deep inside Patrick is the same scruffy teenage boy who somehow fell in with gang members while scrambling to support himself. No amount of pricey items can mask that. 

“Always straight to the point. I like that about you.” 

“This town is built on lies or the circumvention of the truth. Someone has to confront the truth before it consumes us all.” 

How poetic. “So I guess that college education  _ did _ do something for you.” 

Patrick blinks nonchalantly. “No, not really. It didn’t take me away from this life. I don’t think anything can at this point.” 

“I understand,” Pete replies grimly. It’s a trap, all of it. At first the promise of money and the fast life of drugs and sex seems appealing and fulfilling, but it quickly becomes gruelling. Yet they can’t tear themselves away from it either out of fear or lack of direction. They’re all addicts in some way. 

Pete bites the inside of his cheek to conceal a wolfish laugh of anguish. No easy exits. 

“Enough small talk.” A smart choice. It’s so easy to get pulled in by your own emotions and to allow them to drown you. “Let’s get on with it already.” Patrick grabs Pete by the collar of his sweater and draws him forward, pulling him into his lap. 

So impatient, so raw. Tonight will be fun. Pete smirks. 

As Patrick reaches under Pete’s sweater to claw his blunt nails against the flesh of his belly and chest. Pete revels in the pain, twitches with it and lets it flow through him. Memories of Patrick taking him in the living room flood his mind, feeling intangible and too far away. It’s been too long since their last encounter. 

There comes that itch once again.

Patrick scratches deeper and pulls his hand back, droplets of blood glistening on his fingernails. Pete hums in satisfaction and leans forward to kiss him, entangling their fingers and smearing the blood on their hands. Like a perverse blood pact, it makes Pete feel as though he’s closer to Patrick this way. If it doesn’t hurt, it lacks truth.

“Get this off,” Patrick commands, pulling at Pete’s sweater. He grins approvingly as Pete strips, hungrily sweeping his eyes over the expanse of bare skin. He traces his finger over the tattoo sitting above Pete’s pubic area, taunting him with featherlight touches and soft kisses to his neck. Somehow despite being so controlling Patrick manages to be tender. A true jack of all trades. 

Resuming his previous dominant demeanor, Patrick slides a hand between Pete’s thighs, forcing them open. Before Pete can shift to pull his tights off, Patrick tears a hole in the crotch and runs his palm over the front of his underwear. Already, a wet spot is forming and dampening the fabric. Pete presses forward into Patrick’s hand and whines when he squeezes him firmly.

“Are you going to fuck me here?” Pete asks eagerly. 

Patrick chuckles. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” His eyes glimmer dangerously and his smile reminds Pete of a cat cornering a mouse. “The lubricant and condoms are in my room so I’m afraid we’ll have to take our business elsewhere.” Patrick reaches behind Pete and cups his ass, poking his fingers through the holes of his tights. “But you don’t mind that, now do you?” 

“Not at all.” Pete would never pass up an advance from Patrick.

A hand is brought up to Pete’s neck, gripping his throat and firmly pressing down to constrict his breathing. Blood roars in his ears and he squirms in Patrick’s lap, as if his body can’t decide if he wants to get closer or retreat. Pete stays still and shakes as Patrick pushes his thumb through his lips, licking over the rough pad of the digit as his vision blurs with tears.

The pressure is gone and air floods his lungs. Pete sighs gratefully and kisses Patrick’s knuckles. “Such a sweet boy,” Patrick muses. He pats Pete’s thigh and pushes him off his lap. “To the bedroom. Get on the bed and wait for me.”

Defiance has always burned in Pete but he wouldn’t dream of disobeying Patrick. Besides, it would be a punishment to himself and who is he to deprive himself of a well-earned reward? Pete walks down the hall and paces up the stairs, humming softly as he approaches the last door on the right side of the hall. He silently opens the door and sits on the bed, making himself at home as he anticipates Patrick’s arrival. 

Ever so slow, Patrick creeps into the bedroom and closes the door behind him. He loosens his tie as he walks towards the bed, presenting it to Pete before pushing him against the mattress, straddling his hips. “Remember your safeword,” he instructs. He clasps Pete’s wrists together in one hand and wraps the tie around them, restraining him. 

Pete is still as his skirt, tights and underwear are pulled down in one swift movement, watching as their tossed in the nearest corner. Patrick parts his legs and brushes his fingers against Pete’s hole, teasing and testing. Eventually Pete twitches and pulls at his makeshift wrist bindings. “Please,” he pants. “Just do something.” 

Patrick pulls away despite Pete’s protests, laughing at his disappointed expression as he goes to the nightstand to retrieve a condom and lubricant. “Be patient with me and you’ll get what you want.” Pete doesn’t know why he acts so surprised when Patrick always draws out their sessions just to watch him become more desperate until he is willing to do anything. Pete couldn’t help but feel proud to know that he could make Patrick get this way even though it’s humiliating. 

Crouching between Pete’s legs, Patrick shoots another predatory grin and pops open the bottle of lubricant, pouring it over Pete’s hole and pushing a finger in slowly. Pete’s eyes slide shut and he moans softly, clenching around the finger as he tries to force it deeper. Patrick grasps Pete’s hip in his free hand, rubbing his thumb over the hip bone to calm him.  _ Trust me,  _ the movement says. Pete relaxes and gasps as Patrick inserts another finger, stretching him open further. The fingers prod and curl, working in and out with more ease as he loosens up. 

Through gritted teeth, Pete says, “You know I don’t care much for carefulness.” He holds in another moan as Patrick’s fingers curl against that sweet spot inside of him. 

“As I don’t care much for recklessness,” Patrick fires back. He quirks an eyebrow and twists his fingers, grinning deviously when a loud grunt of pleasure spills from Pete. “But that’s fine because I think you’re ready now.”

Patrick withdraws his fingers and rises from his position on the floor, unbuttoning his pants and throwing them elsewhere in the room with the rest of Pete’s discarded clothing. Pete closes his eyes as he hears the foil condom packaging tear, willing himself to ignore the turmoil bubbling in the back of his mind. That’s the only thing he hates about their setup, the verbal disputes and wild accusations and declarations thrown out. He doesn’t expect perfection - they’re both too broken to have that - but that doesn’t mean there isn’t room for improvement. 

Pete opens his eyes and turns to face Patrick as he strokes his latex-clad erection and rolls into his side to watch with a lustful gaze. He’s had about enough of his thoughts getting in the way and complicating this. He just wants the companionship of Patrick and more drugs. That’s all he needs, not the conflict his poisoned mind manages to conjure up.

He smiles plainly as Patrick buries his face in his neck and noses at the expanse of skin present. Yes, he’ll try to enjoy this while it lasts.  _ Merry Christmas to me.  _

 

—-

Patrick peers at the clock. It’s a little past two in the morning, meaning that it officially is Christmas. He watches Pete through narrowed eyes as he cleans the razor on the hem of his shirt before cutting leaning over the table and inhaling the thin white lines. He sniffs and comes back up, bloodshot hazel eyes watery and vacant with mania. He wipes the leftover powder from his nose and sighs contently. 

A drop of red falls from Pete’s left nostril and onto the bed sheets. “You need help.” Patrick needs to start telling him no. He’s promised to do that for months now but every time Pete comes crawling back, he takes pity on him. There’s no one else who truly cares about Pete, no one who sees him as a person. No, he’s just a toy for them to extort and fuck and they’ll all discard of him when he’s broken. 

Not Patrick though. He wants to fix him. He thinks he can fix him. A thinking man, Patrick is, though he lets his heart do the leading more than anything.  It’s going to be the death of him someday.

“You need help.” 

“I’m fine,” Pete assures. He dabs at his running nose with a corner of the bed’s blanket and Patrick doesn’t even try to hide his look of disdain. “This happens sometimes. It’s fine.” He fixes Patrick with that empty stare. More blood drips down his lips and onto his chin, spilling onto his chest and wrists. His head rolls forward and blood pours in a thick line onto his bare thighs. 

Patrick sits up and clasps Pete’s head between his hands, caressing his cheeks lovingly. “No, you’re not. I have to get you to a hospital.” 

Pete laughs bitterly and grins a smile of blood and bone. “You know I can’t do that,” he giggles. He shakes his head. “It’ll be okay. Promise.” He holds a pinky out to Patrick. After a moment of hesitation, Patrick accepts it with shaking hands. 

“Peter,” Patrick says slowly. “I don’t think we can do this anymore.  _ I  _ don’t think I can do this anymore.” 

The smile is torn from Pete’s face and replaced with a pensive frown. “What do you mean?” he asks. “Are - are you trying to break up with me?”

“You’re not okay,” Patrick retaliates quickly. “Have you seen yourself? You look sick and frail and I think you need to get help for your addiction.” 

Pete tears his head from Patrick’s grasp and bares his teeth. “I’m not addicted! I am  _ not _ a fucking addict!” he yells. His chest raises as he inhales and Patrick solemnly counts his ribs. “You’re not serious about this, are you?” The light behind his eyes dies. “I thought we had something.” 

“We do, but I just...I can’t, okay?” Patrick cards a hand through his bleached hair and grinds his teeth. “I can’t deal with you while you’re like this. I need you to get help.” 

Pete rolls his eyes. “Need, need, need. You always think you know what I need. Well, you know what you need? A fucking life and help with your drinking problem.” 

That was a low blow. Lucky for them both, Patrick is a bottomless pit. “You know what you need?” he asks darkly in a restrained tone. 

“What?” Pete growls. 

“You don’t need a dick in your ass; you need fucking therapy!” 

“Fuck you!” 

“Fuck you, too!” Patrick tears the blanket off of himself and abruptly rises from the softness of the mattress. “Fuck you, you fucking whore.”

For a second, Pete’s eyes glimmer with hurt. The light is snuffed quickly and he snarls, “Fine. Whatever.” He stands up too and scans the carpet for his clothes. “I’m leaving.” He finds his underwear and yanks them back on, almost tripping over himself. 

“Good. Merry fucking Christmas!” 

“Will you fuck off?” Pete’s head feels fuzzy and too warm. He sniffles and wipes at his nose, suddenly remembering the blood leaking from it. “I…” He leans against the dresser, the world spinning and blurring. 

The anger Patrick felt towards Pete fades as soon as he sees him struggling to stay upright. He rushes over to Pete and pulls him into his arms, grunting when he nearly collapses on top of him. “Pete, Pete, hey. Stay with me.” 

Pete’s eyes flutter and turn up to the ceiling, unfocused and waxy. “Patrick?” he asks. “Patrick?”

Patrick’s heartbeat thumps rapidly in his ears, blood roaring through his veins. He should’ve said no, he fucking knew it. “Yes?” Pete’s eyes shut and his head falls to the side. Patrick shakes him fervently, muttering, “Yes? Pete, please don’t do this to me.” 

Pete’s bloodied lips move but no sound comes out. He takes one final breath before his head settles on Patrick’s shoulder and he stills in his arms.   


**Author's Note:**

> i’ve been so busy with...interesting things involving the flesh world these days so i accidentally missed the halloween challenge and haven’t posted anything in a bit! i hope this makes up for it.


End file.
